


Quickstep

by Buckwild



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Action & Romance, Blood and Injury, Brotherly Bonding, Diego being soft, F/M, Five too but discreetly, Gen, No Incest, No Sparrow Academy, The power of love and incredible violence, Timeline Shenanigans, Undercover Missions, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:28:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27426475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buckwild/pseuds/Buckwild
Summary: The timeline's in shambles.Diego and Five infiltrate an elegant gala in an attempt to track down A.J Carmichael, who's somehow alive and might have some answers. They'll soon realize they're not the only ones trying to do it.ORDiego and Lila dance, Five faces his fears, and the Hargreeves take care of one another.
Relationships: Diego Hargreeves/Lila Pitts, Number Five | The Boy & Diego Hargreeves
Comments: 50
Kudos: 130





	1. The Stage

**Author's Note:**

> I was super scared to post this! Felt too ambitious, but here we are! We're doing this! If the plot feels too contrived just ignore it, this is still mostly character-driven.

_ Autumn Hall _ _  
_ _ 20:45 PM _

Resting by the staircase, Diego looks at the crowd on the first floor. The sound of jazz echoing through the hall, elegant strangers dressed to the nines; it’s a honey-colored daydream, and Diego, who’s always been a bit rough around the edges, is about to start throwing things. 

Two hours, and still no signs of the target. With his back against the wall, Diego puts a hand on the piano that’s there as decoration, and slowly moves it down until it’s resting on the keys. Lack of progress makes Diego’s patience burn quicker, but he’s been working on being more reliable, more  _ there; _ he’d rather die than ruin his streak. This is it, after all: Five’s said the person responsible for this timeline will be here, and that’s a chance they can’t waste. 

(Calling someone else the culprit of this mess is a bit unfair, since the whole family had a go at beating the timeline up, but that’s all said and done now, and in the end, it  _ was _ Carmichael that pulled the trigger).

His eyes remain on the entrance, waiting for his target to make an appearance, only getting briefly distracted by a lady on a masquerade mask- there’s something odd about her,  _ maybe _ . He’s been waiting for too long. Briefly, Diego entertains the idea of Five finding A.J at the first location: His brother would take care of it himself, of course, and Diego wouldn't even have to help. Much to his surprise, this is not a calming thought. As much as he understands this as a necessary evil, Diego’s tired of it, this constant risking everything,  _ losing everyone _ they’ve turned into a way of life. It might be what they deserve, but that doesn’t mean he wants it. Not for himself, and certainly not for his brother, who he has grown fond of despite his best efforts against it.

_ You’re getting soft _ , Five would probably say. It’s not like that matters, at this point.

By the main door, the greeter argues with a rowdy guest. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, “but if you’re not accompanied by-” 

“Lady, for the last time, I _ am _ on the list,” a jaded, familiar voice interrupts her, “and my plus-one is waiting for me, so if you could just go away, that’d save us both a  _ lot _ of trouble.”

Now  _ that _ devil he recognizes. Diego almost leaps towards the entrance, much to the annoyance of everyone standing in his way. 

“Five!” He says, just a little too loud.

“Hey,” Five replies, unamused. With a swift movement, he snatches up a glass of champagne from an unsuspecting waiter and points towards the staircase, walking away before Diego can react, “upstairs, now.”

Like Diego, Five has dressed appropriately for the occasion, although his hair is flopping over his forehead in a less than formal fashion. His eyes are glinting with unexplained hostility, and his usually quick pace seems more erratic, exhausted. Trying to appear unfazed by it, Diego does a little run and catches up to his brother.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” he says.

“Things went to shit. Had to leave early. We’re going with plan two.”

“You good?”

“Yeah, just,” Five licks his lips and grabs onto the handrail just a bit more intensely, “just a bit roughed up. How did things go for you?”

“Got the intel you needed,” he taps his front pocket for emphasis, “right here, baby.” 

Much to Diego’s surprise, Five actually seems impressed. 

“Thanks,” he tries to say, but his voice falters.

There’s a moment of silence, both of them realizing what just happened. Diego would just point it out, if only he didn’t empathize with Five’s prideful side so much.

“Love the suit,” he heckles his brother instead, “you look like an accountant.”

“And you look like regurgitated tropical punch,” Five replies, going up two steps at a time, “so, where’s the-.” 

They’re reaching the end of the staircase and Diego hears,  _ feels _ Five tensing up beside him. Like gears in a clock, they both stop dead on their tracks. Someone’s behind them. Diego’s hand hovers over his front pocket, ready to grab one of his hidden knives.

“Excuse me,” a tiny voice says, and Diego turns to see a scrawny teenager barely managing to carry a cello upstairs.

“Ah shit, I’m- sorry ma’am,” he says, and steps to the side.

The girl thanks him profusely as she walks past them.

“You think A.J’s in the violin?” Diego adds once she’s out of earshot.

Five makes an exasperated sound and blinks up the last few steps.

* * *

The Autumn’s Hall second floor is just as massive as the first one. The band setting up their instruments by the east wall is noisy, and would definitely be a dealbreaker if things weren't this dire, but at least it’s ten people at most, which is way better than the cluttered reception hall. Diego sits by the large window, tapping his fingers on the frame. With a wince, Five sits by his side. 

“Those goddamn bureaucrats. If I didn’t have an oath, I’d kill Herb with my own hands.”

“Come on, man. Herb’s nice.”

“Who cares if he’s nice, Diego. He’s a cop.”

Diego pauses, then shrugs.

“I got the SIM card for the briefcase tracker,” Five continues, eyes trained on the staircase, “the tracker itself, didn’t get so lucky. Did you get the system password?”

The way he says it, it sounds like whatever happened to the tracker was way worse than just being lost in the way.

“Yeah, here’s-” he mumbles, fishing the small piece of ripped paper out of his pocket “-here. Atlas Jericho, 1X-9X-55.” 

“That’s good.”

Without hesitation, Five pulls his phone out and bites the back of it until it pops open. He snatches the SIM card from Diego’s hand and slides it in, turning the phone on with more violence than needed: It comes to life with a little jingle, much to Five’s annoyance. He types the password in. The screen unlocks for a second, but then turns white again, a small message popping up.  _ Couldn’t start the program. This device is not authorized for real-time tracking. _

“Son of a bitch!” Five barks.

“You got the tracker though? Maybe I could-”

“Got shot through it,” Five says, quick, “no amount of MacGyvering is gonna bring that one back to life.”

Diego’s eyes go wide for a second, but he manages to look away before Five catches on. Then, he realizes someone new is by the staircase. Masquerade lady. No- it’s a theatre mask, a mouse face stylized to fit the night’s aesthetic. She’s wearing a nutcracker suit that’s just a little odd around the chest, and she’s mumbling something to herself. Diego’s heart picks up the pace.

“Five,” he murmurs, “on your left. Mouse King mask.”

“What about her?”

“Earpiece. Shoulder holster under the little nutcracker suit.”

“Temps.”

“Most likely.”

Five glances at her, then looks at the floor, pensive. He’s keeping his right hand awfully close to his chest, and when he breathes in, he shudders. As he begins to speak, his voice turns dark and low, its cadence matching what Diego imagines his old self sounded like.

“Let’s split,” he says, “meet me here in thirty minutes. I’ll see if she’s got any briefcase trackers we can use, you keep an eye on the entrance in case Carmichael shows up.”

“Wait,” Diego replies, uselessly grabbing at his brother’s sleeve.

Five doesn’t blink away.

“What now?”

“You got shot?”

“Yes, I- look, Diego, I don’t have time to explain this to you.”

Diego’s grip goes slack, but he doesn’t look away. He knows it’s a desperate attempt, but there’s no way he could verbalize his concern without making it all worse. His expression, he guesses, will have to suffice. It’s a bit embarrassing, honestly. 

“Take care,” Five says, and it’s strangely sincere.

“You too,” Diego replies, and hopes Five hears it the same way.

* * *

Suddenly stricken by an unexplainable sense of dread, Roux hesitates before reaching the end of the staircase. The band should offer enough cover for her to coordinate with the rest of her team, but something’s just  _ off _ , a heaviness in the air that reminds her of a thunderstorm. The gun she keeps snug against her side feels like it’s burning all of the sudden; metal against skin, begging for some action. It’s not the first time this has happened to her, and it surely won’t be the last. Perhaps one day this muscle memory from another lifetime will be a saving grace- today, however, she has to stick to the plan. Roux takes a deep breath and wills herself to relax.

“Pavlova, status,” she says, her voice muffled slightly by the mask she’s wearing.

“Can we not do that? I don’t like codenames.”

“Please cooperate,  _ Pavlova _ .”

“Sorry, boss,” she replies in an impish tone, “I’m outside the theatre now, but the tracker’s not picking up shit.”

“Alright. Clementine, status.”

“No signs of the target, possible accomplice detected.”

“Who is it?”

“He’s looking at you now, boss. By the window.”

Roux glances over at them, the Mouse King’s milky-white eyes covering her gesture. Recognition hits her quick, about as pleasant as a brick to the face.

“Oh, for god’s sake.”

“Roux?” Pavlova and Clementine ask at the same time, making the earpiece rattle.

Ignoring them, Roux walks towards the nearest table, grabs a glass of white wine, and gulps it down in one swing.

“We’ll wait until they split up. Clementine, keep an eye on the entrance. I’ll take care of the short one. Pavlova, how good are you at hand-to-hand combat?”

“Could be worse, really.”

“Second floor, black suit, floral dress shirt. Isolate and extract information.”

“Got it.”

“We’re gonna get our hands on that son of a bitch.”

There’s a small beeping sound as Clementine turns off their earpiece. Roux looks over at the desserts on the table, her eyes locking on a small cake slicer that’s been left beside the meringue cake. Covertly, she slides it up her sleeve.

“Huh, they _ do _ have pavlova,” she murmurs then, and the earpiece immediately comes alive, “I guess I will have to call you by your name, then.”

“It’s a pity you didn’t pick a cake as a codename,” Pavlova says, cheeky, “because I  _ love _ saying  _ your _ name.”

“I know you do, Lila,” Roux says, and sighs, “I know you do.”

  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Repertoire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOW we're getting into it!! i was mia for a week but hey this is super long  
> Thanks to Hermitreunited and Electra-XT for being amazing beta readers.

_ Autumn Hall, rooftop. _ _  
_ _ 21:30 PM _

Getting to the rooftop of the building is easy. With a quick blink, Five bypasses the wall and steps onto the fire escape, catching his breath before the chase can really begin— a prospect that shouldn’t, by all accounts, be as thrilling as it is. Breathing through gritted teeth, Five turns to face the escape door with a grin. 

This body might be a joke, but young blood does run through its veins.

In the darkness, a door clicks, and then she’s there, too: a navy blue suit and a Rat King mask, its milky eyes unable to hide the murderous intent she radiates. It would be intimidating if he wasn’t so ready, so eager for what’s next. The Rat King rolls her shoulders. Their eyes meet, and Five starts running like a hare in pursuit. 

“You’re not going anywhere!” she growls, just as a shot rings. It’s far too close for comfort.

Like it’s a reflex, Five blinks away, reappearing right on the roof’s ledge. He can feel the strain the jump puts on him— being lithe and scrawny is still mostly a disadvantage— but this time there’s no moment for him to catch his breath. Behind him, the Rat King stands, weapon out and ready. The moonlight has turned her figure into something ghoulish.

“Number Five,” she says, and her voice is familiar in a way he doesn’t like. 

As they stand face to face, he can see her silhouette clearly behind the theatre costume: Dark hair, cut straight. He doesn’t indulge her by giving her a reply; her gun’s pointed right at his forehead, leaving no space for verbal negotiation.The gun goes off, but misses him completely. Appearing back by her side, Five wrestles the weapon out of her hand, managing to do so without touching the hot muzzle. It’s a short-lived victory, however, because whoever this woman is, she’s as quick as she’s dangerous: Five barely registers he’s been stabbed on the shoulder before he sees a gush of blood, and even then he’s surprised to see the culprit of his latest bizarre injury is not a knife, but a cake slicer. At least he can say he admires the resourcefulness.

His siblings better not find out, or they’ll kill him before the universe manages to do it. 

Thoughts silenced by the sheer force of the adrenaline rush, all that’s left of Five is the acquired reactions, muscle memory. A pair of hands try to catch him but he’s too quick for them, too  _ small _ , and isn’t that a riot— Five bites and twists out of the woman’s grasp, eyes once again glinting, feral. With a jump, he wraps his arms around her neck and tries to choke her, but loses his grip when his bad shoulder refuses to cooperate. She takes the chance to throw Five over her head, his back slamming against the concrete floor.

He might black out for a second, but at least he manages to take off her mask.

“Where’s A.J,” she demands, looming over him, “who else did he send.”

“Cha-Cha,” he chokes out, too weak and surprised to say anything else.

She lowers her blade. With a growl, Five tries to sit up, but Cha-Cha’s boot is quick to pin him down once again. It’s her, it  _ has _ to be her,  _ why wouldn’t _ it be her. He’s never been the most fortunate person, but  _ Diego _ , Diego’s just hilariously unlucky. 

Five remembers Diego, and a rush of fear goes through him. His brother’s _waiting_ _for him_. He _needs_ to get back in one piece.

To his right, just inches away from his hand, Five catches a glimpse of Cha-Cha’s dropped gun. There’s an impulse to grab it, but something else stops it before he can move: he’s better than that, or at least wants to be. He might as well try and lead with the truth. If this is the slip that ends up killing him, Five will honestly forgive himself for it.

“We’re not with A.J,” he says, his voice steady despite everything.

“Then who are you working for?” 

“No one,” he replies, “Carmichael screwed us over, too.”

She takes a step back. “How do I know you are being honest? I know what you did last time.”

“Lady, I’m afraid that doesn’t narrow it down as much as you think it does.”

She glares at him. “Let’s get this over with.”

Five stares wide-eyed as the woman raises the cake slicer. She’s brutal and effective when bringing it down, but she isn’t quick enough— they’re _ never _ as quick as him. A flash of blue light and he’s still flat on his back, but two feet away from where the blade lands. He coughs and brings up a hand as a plea for some time. Letting out an involuntary whimper, he sits up, hands scrambling to press against his shoulder. Cha-Cha leaves him to it. With the thrill of the chase starting to wear off, Five’s beginning to truly feel like garbage.

“Please, listen to me,” he says, because he’s not about to ruin everyone’s chances by dying, much less to something like this.

Cha-Cha opens her mouth to speak, but hastily stops herself from doing so. Her earpiece buzzes faintly, but Five can’t make out anything it sputters out. What she says, however, is easier to hear:

“Understood. Clementine, get to the rooftop, and bring the tracker with you. Lila, stay with your mark.”

To say the name rings a bell is an understatement. It is, in all honesty, more like a fire alarm blaring right inside his head— however, that’s not the part of the phrase that makes Five’s heart skip a bit. A  _ tracker _ . He prays this Clementine person is slow, and gathers what’s left of his wits to at least try and talk his way out of this.

Cha-Cha’s eyes lock on Five’s and, without looking away, she picks up the gun.

“Look, I don’t know you well enough, but I know you were one of them,” Five begins to say, his voice as kind as he can muster, “and I was, too. Whatever it is you want to do to A.J, I’m sure you have your reasons, and I’m not about to stop you. They didn’t care about any of us.”

“That’s easy to say when you were the Handler’s favorite.”

“And she tried to get me killed for it. Let’s not kid ourselves, alright?”

She cocks the gun. Five’s chagrin is, despite his efforts, fairly evident.

“Ok, I get it. You hate me, and that’s fair, but that’s not gonna get either of us closer to our objective, right? You’re looking for A.J, I’m also looking for him. We can work this out.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“But I do.”

Cha-Cha pauses.

“I don’t know what your goal is,” Five says, daring to take a step forward, “but I know I got people counting on me, and I can’t let them down. I want to come back to them tonight. If you can help me do that, I can give you A.J’s tracking number, and we both can get to that bastard before the night is over.”

Five isn’t sure he gets the last few words out, reality growing dangerously hazy. Before he knows what’s going on, it all tilts to the side and he stumbles, only being saved from a fall by Cha-Cha’s quick reaction.

She lowers him to the floor, a hand on his shoulder, applying pressure. “I guess I have to apologize for stabbing you.”

“I’m used to it,” Five mumbles. “Shit, that’s bleeding like a son of a bitch.”

“Here, let me get some—” Cha-Cha grabs him by the collar and drags him a couple feet towards the shed in the rooftop’s right corner. 

With some efficient cake slicer maneuvering, she cracks the door open and pulls out a small toolkit. Five hears her rummaging around before he makes out the clear sound of industrial tape being ripped from the roll.

“There,” she says while unbuttoning his now-ruined dress shirt. She tapes the wound shut like it’s no big deal, and then helps him back to his feet.

“Thanks,” Five mumbles, breathless, “you’re a quick thinker.”

“Teamwork’s a good teacher. We need to take care of each other,” Cha-Cha replies, voice flat. “Now, that tracker ID.”

“Let’s get to it.”

* * *

_ Autumn Hall, 22:00 PM _ _  
_ _ Second floor _

Lila loves her new job.

It’s the same as always, but _ better _ . Lila knows she’s got squirrels for brains, she never  _ expected _ to slip right back into society after everything that happened; this unique job opportunity was, objectively, a miracle, considering her other options. For the first time in her life, Lila has freedom, a dental plan, and a good excuse to murder some commission agents without those icky feelings of guilt. If Cha-Cha found her hiding inside someone’s pantry after crying for a week straight, well, that’s no one’s business but hers. What matters is that now she’s got a suit on, a silly rat mask, and a commission agent on her sights. 

She finds her target in the ballroom, his hair short and stylish in a way that amuses her. Modern tastes. It’s hard to make out anything else about him, because he’s bouncing around like a kid— Lila leaves him to it and goes to get some cheesecake instead, because cheesecake is a rare occurrence and should be prioritized. When she’s back the band’s in full swing, and her mystery target has sneaked out. Without missing a beat, Lila takes her mask off and asks the teenager by the food table, bits of cake falling from her mouth as she does. The kid points Lila to a small adjacent room, where the band was apparently practicing a while ago. 

Discretion. This night truly couldn’t get any better. Lila stuffs the rest of her cheesecake in her pocket and walks into the room.

The gun in her shoulder hostler is starting to get real itchy. Lila briefly considers the drama of entering the room topless before deciding against it— unbuttoning the suit would be a nightmare, and she’s too committed to the aesthetic already. She pushes the large wooden door and steps inside, delighted by the clicking of her heels against the old tiles. The man in the far right corner doesn’t hear her enter, too focused on his phone; deciding there’s time for some extra fun, she sneaks behind him through the small corridor adjacent to the room. Any bit of information is useful. Maybe Cha-Cha will get her a donut for it.

The man’s playing an audio file over and over. It’s a woman’s voice, and she sounds distraught.

“I can’t find her,” the woman says, or at least that’s what Lila manages to make out, “I need… Take some time. Vanya’s... We can’t keep doing this. Please, the two of you...”

Lila rests her back against the wall between her and the target and eats some more cheesecake out of her pocket. The drama is a little fun, even if she can’t recognize the voice on the other side of the phone; most importantly, though, it gives her time to adjust her hostler. Things change, however, when the man decides to finally reply. A vague sense of dread fills Lila as she hears his voice and  _ recognizes _ it.

“I’m sorry, sis,” he says, sounding just devastated, “we’ll be ok, Five’s plan is working just fine. You’re gonna be back with your baby girl before you know it, I promise.”

He stops, and curses, and starts again. It happens three times. Lila’s too afraid to look at him.

Then, another message.

“Five, let’s just call it. It’s too much of a risk. We need to get back to Luther’s place now.”

This one does get sent. Lila knows, because she sees him hitting the button.

“Hey,” she mumbles, standing in front of Diego like an awkward teenager, or perhaps a guilty suspect.

“Lila,” Diego says, breathless, “oh, God, it  _ is _ you!”

There are many ways she expected the night to go. Lila mentally runs through them all in a flurry, even when she knows it’s worthless, because there’s no way she could have guessed this one. It’s a double surprise, too, because before she’s made it to the acceptance stage of  _ well, I have to kill my ex now _ , Diego is lunging forwards and  _ oh _ , that’s a hug alright. His arms wrap around her and  _ squeeze _ like she’s a teddy bear, and his face is so close to her neck he can  _ feel _ him smiling. It’s horrible, really. Lila thinks she’s going to spontaneously combust.

The discomfort lasts for about two seconds. The signal clearly never reaches her brain, because before she knows what she’s doing, she’s pinned Diego to the wall and she’s kissing him as an act of violence.

“Lila,” he gasps uselessly, “are you—”

“For fuck’s sake,” she mumbles, pressing herself against him, “why did it have to be you?” She’s sure she put her knife somewhere. It shouldn’t take more than a minute.

“We’re not—” Diego cups her face between his hands. “Are you alright?”

Lila pauses and forgets what she was doing in the first place.

“What do you mean.”

“Lila, I’ve been worried sick about you. Where have you been?”

“I’m—” she pauses, her hands resting on Diego’s hips as she tries to find the right words, “What’s wrong with you? Last time you saw me I was trying to murder you.”

“You were trying to murder  _ Five _ ,” he corrects her, “which is pretty common for anyone who’s talked to him for more than ten minutes.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I am,” Diego says, and then his voice goes softer, kinder. “Are you alright?”

The way he looks at her straight in the eyes is the most warm, welcoming, and  _ worst _ thing she’s felt in months. Without realizing, she lets her knees bend, and lets Diego follow her lower,  _ lower _ , until they’re both kneeling on the floor of the empty room, staring at each other like it’ll be enough.

“I’m fine,” she whispers. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” 

Diego sighs, and rests his forehead against her chest. Lila doesn’t know how to react.

“I’m sorry you had to be alone—” he starts to say, but she interrupts him.

“I wasn’t alone. I found some people, bunch of lost assholes like me. We’re on a mission, and we thought— oh god, my boss is gonna turn your brother into mincemeat.”

The words come out of her like she has been cursed, bypassing every rule she’s learned since she was a child. Diego’s breath is hot against her skin, and she’s missed him so much it’s making her lose  _ brain cells _ —  _ fucking hell _ , she didn’t even get that much cheesecake. At least she finds some comfort in knowing Diego is screwing it up just as badly. 

“We’re also on a mission, maybe— wait, who’s gonna do what to who now?”

“You guys aren’t with A.J, right?”

“What, no. We’re trying to kill that son of a bitch.”

“Good. We can help you then.”

“You just said your boss was going to—”

“Yeah, yeah. We need to call that off,” Lila says. By instinct, she reaches for her earpiece, before realizing it was tied to the mask. “Shit.”

“What?”

“I left it at the cake table. Come on, chop chop.”

With a swift movement, Lila grabs Diego’s hand, a gesture that comes to her so naturally it makes her sad to even think about it. She begins to drag him out of the room but Diego’s too heavy, and he’s not taking a single step forward; Lila turns towards him, ready to chew him out, but when she sees him, her heart sinks. He’s got those big, sad eyes, and he’s smiling, looking at her like she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever—

God, she hates it.

“I said get moving, big boy! We’ll have time to mope later!”

It’s a lie and they both know it. Without thinking about it, Diego follows her out of the empty room and into the ballroom.

* * *

There are exactly seven people playing instruments right now. Diego knows because he counted them, and their faces are burned into his brain like the world’s pettiest murder list. He’s counting the instruments and he can barely  _ think _ , because the last week has been a mess, the band is too loud,  _ Lila _ ’s here now for some reason, and if he and Five don’t get this done tonight maybe they’ll really,  _ finally _ be screwed. 

Lila. He’s trying not to think about it, because Diego knows his heart wouldn’t be able to take it right now. He lets her drag him into the ballroom where people are somehow dancing to this loud mess— he looks at her then, and he understands, because of course he does.  _ Be discreet _ .  _ Fit right in _ . Diego places his left hand just over Lila’s hip and lets her guide them as they join the circle of eager dancers.

“We thought you guys were with the commission!” Lila says, a little too loud. 

“Nah, we’re going solo now! Pack of lone wolves!”

“That’s not how any of that— wait, do a little jump.”

“What?”

“You’re supposed to do a little bounce— like that.”

To her credit, adding the bounce to his step does make their choreography look better.

“Where’s the thing?” Diego says over the music, which is starting to grow on him.

“Cake table! Maybe just—” Lila says, stretching an arm towards the table, but before she can finish the sentence, someone else grabs her hand and pulls her away.

“Shit!” Diego curses, right as a short, freckled woman falls into his arms.

Without missing a beat, both of them lock in step with their new partners.

The music’s picking up the pace. Diego’s mind is anywhere else,  _ who’s this, where’s Lila, maybe I should start drinking, _ and he’s trying to keep it together but also he’s competitive, too competitive not to show off. Tapping into the endless resource that is his traumatic childhood learning, Diego pulls his partner close and does a little spin, before holding her hand and using the momentum to send her towards the center of the ballroom again. She slips right into the arms of Lila, who’s quick to put her hands on the girl’s hips and continue dancing. Diego doesn’t even see them, too busy with adjusting his pace to Lila’s partner, who is taller than him and just not a good dancer. He’ll have to show him, then.

Right, Five. Diego’s attention snaps back to the snack table as the circle of dancers keeps moving along. 

“Diego!” Lila calls to his right.

Diego lets go of his latest dancing partner and turns just in time to catch Lila. He laughs a little, earning a soft smack on the cheek from her. Resolute, they lock their hands and dance their way to the table, cutting right through the rest of the dancers and catching more attention that they probably want.

“There it is.” Lila lets go and jumps towards the table, snatching a rat mask that’s got cake all over it.

“Alright, let’s go!” Diego says, hoisting her up in an undignified fireman's carry. Although he can’t see her, he guesses she’s grinning. 

“Woo!” Lila shouts, confirming his suspicions.

Diego is quick to get to the emergency exit. It’s an old fashioned fire escape, four sets of stairs all the way up to the rooftop. He puts Lila down and they both run upstairs. Despite being distracted with her mask, Lila somehow manages to outrun him- Diego thinks she hasn’t noticed at first, but once he starts picking up the pace, he realizes she’s doing the same. It’s a race. Diego can’t help but smile as he grabs onto the handrail and vaults right over her.

“Piece of shit!”

“It’s not my fault you’re—”

They reach the rooftop. There’s so much blood on the floor.

“Oh, ok,” Lila says vaguely, “alright, let me get my boss.”

“Shit,” Diego echoes, trotting up to the tool shed in the far right corner. Kneeling by the large bloodstain there, he looks over the items scattered about, and tries hard not to think about it. “I think we’re late.”

“Oh shut up, don’t be such a baby. It’s just a little blood.”

“It’s a  _ lot  _ of blood.”

“Your brother has like, four litres of that shit.”

“That’s not comforting.”

“I’m sure he’s— yes, Roux. Did you kill the little shit yet?”

Diego’s eyes go wide, and he pouts. It’s like his dignity can’t catch a break tonight.

“Oh, ok. Yes, they’re not dangerous. Alright, I’ll do that. I’ll pass over the—”

Before he can regret it, Diego crawls under Lila’s arm and gets close enough to the mask’s intercom that he can be heard on the other side.

“What did you do to my brother!” he snaps.

There’s a second of silence, then a woman speaks, her voice dark and foreboding, “Bring him back in ten, or Lila will kill you both. Over.”

The device beeps once, then the buzzing fizzles and dies. 

“What’s that even—?”

There’s a flash of blue light by the fire exit. Running towards that beacon is an instinct he’s never shaken from their childhood days, however dark they might have been. Diego disentangles himself and sprints towards the staircase, never stopping to think it might be a trap.

“Hey,” a jaded Five says, leaning against the wall.

“Five,” Diego says, eyes already scanning his brother with motherly precision.

“Lila’s with you, right?”

“I, yeah, she’s—” Diego turns back, expecting to see her, but Lila has not come with him. “She’s there.”

“Is she alright?”

Diego is a bit surprised, but does reply, “yeah.”

“Good. Now, listen.”

Diego climbs down and stands by Five’s side, reaching out to touch his apparently mangled shoulder. Five slaps his hand away.

“We found A.J. Their meeting was at the abandoned theatre on the fifth; the gala was a front.”

“It was a— you and who?”

“You don’t want to know that.”

“Five, we’ve talked about this.”

The accusation seems to go through his brother, even if just a little. He looks down at the floor, muttering something under his breath before letting out a sigh and speaking up again.

“Diego, you can chew me out for this all you want later, but right now, I need you to work with me. Lila’s boss is well prepared, and she has backup. We’re gonna get to A.J, I’ll get his briefcase and switchboard permissions, and she will take care of the rest.”

“What about us?”

“That’s where I need you.”

Diego leans down, just a tiny bit. To his surprise, Five doesn’t move away from the contact, wholeheartedly leaning against his brother instead. It makes Diego’s heart break. 

“There’s something I left at Vanya’s place, just in case tonight didn’t go so well. She knows what it is, but her phone’s off and I can’t contact her. I need you to go find her, and bring it back to me.”

“What is it?”

“She knows, trust me.”

“Can’t you at least tell me that?”

Five huffs, “it’s her notes. She’s got the exact dates where the divergence happened. If you get them, we’ll be able to do this without putting Sissy and Harlan at risk.”

Diego’s anger is so loud he can almost hear it. As much as he hates the idea of splitting up, the idea of breaking Vanya’s heart again is even worse. In a moment of silence, he holds Five’s hand tight,  _ painfully  _ tight, and looks at him in the eyes. Five is being sincere.

“Ok. Count on me,” Diego says, and stands up, “but Five, I’m serious. If you get killed, I’m gonna kill you.”

Five grimaces. “Alright,” he says, hands on his pockets. 

He turns to leave, but pauses before taking a step forward. Diego stares at him, waiting; it’s almost imperceptible, but Five turns his face towards him to say something, just as blue light begins to envelop him.

“I love you guys,” he says, “don’t forget that.”

Diego’s eyes go wide in a mix of surprise and fear.

“Dude, why— why would you say that now?”

“Because no one’s gonna believe you,” Five says, voice back to its normal sardonic tone. 

There’s a flash of blue light, and Five’s gone.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next week: vanya has the braincell, aj gives an evil monologue, five gets the shit beaten out of him
> 
> thank you for your comments!! they mean a lot ;;  
> thank you for encouraging me on my bullshit is what i mean sjsjsj
> 
> Also side note, for the bg music on that dance scene i was SPECIFICALLY thinking about this
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sestSq6hRHI&ab_channel=superpoisen


	3. Rehearsal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: see you in a week!  
> me: disappears for 3 weeks
> 
> Jokes aside, mind the tags for this one. There's violence, and brief, implied suicidal ideation- if that makes you uncomfortable at all, skip the last section!

_Elysium theatre, rooftop._ _  
_ _22:15 PM_

It’s getting cold outside.

Looking at the city below, Five takes a moment to think. Everything has turned a muddy shade of blue, overcast skies trapping in the warm glow of the streetlights. It’s kind of beautiful. To his right, Cha-Cha sits on the ledge again, leaning forward, elbows on her knees. She is still holding the tracker, which emits a constant, rhythmic sound; Five tries to focus on it, waiting as his breathing evens out. A.J is right below them, but as long as he doesn’t move, they can rest here and wait. Five lets out a sigh, closing his eyes for a second too long. 

“You know, Lila never mentioned you,” Cha-Cha says, her eyes never leaving the device she’s holding.

Five exhales sharply. “Well, it sounds like you’ve been busy.”

Cha-Cha makes a sound of agreement. Still gazing over the city, Five puts a hand on his shoulder and gently presses down. While the wound did bleed at first, now he’s sure it’s nothing but a scratch. Still, he adds it to his mental list of possible hindrances. He has to get this right. There’s a minimal sound next to him, and Five freezes: Cha-Cha is looking at him; he can feel it like a hare feels a hound.

“Is something wrong, number Five?” she asks.

“I’m just making sure I’m ready,” he replies.

She doesn’t seem convinced. Her eyes remain on him, piercing, and Five feels a confession bubbling up to his mouth, even when there’s nothing he could say. In the distance, he hears the steps of a stranger running up the dilapidated theatre’s firescape. Five turns to Cha-Cha, and upon seeing her not react to it, assumes it must not be a threat. Above them, the skies have turned dark and the air feels heavy, warm; it’s going to start raining any minute now, no doubt about it.

“Oi, boss!” a high-pitched voice calls.

“Clementine,” Cha-Cha replies, and her tone is surprisingly kind.

They’re holding some paper bags. Whatever is inside is sugary enough that Five can smell it. “I thought you said there were gonna be two of ‘em. I got donuts for six,” Clementine says.

“You can have the extras, but save one for Lila.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Clementine is tall and lanky, about as non-threatening as Five can imagine. He stretches a hand towards them as a formality. Instead of shaking it, they just shove a donut in it. 

“Well, since everyone’s here, we might as well go over the plan,” Cha-Cha says, immediately catching Clementine’s attention. Five turns towards her too, and waits for her to speak.

“A.J is on the second floor. The briefcases are stored in the backstage of the theatre. We don’t know how many agents are on the main entrance, but it’s probably around ten. Five will go in first, take down the agents in the foyer, and I’ll take care of the second floor hall. Clementine, you will sneak in and get a briefcase. We’ll hold them back for you. Go back to the Commission, hide, and wait for instructions. I’ll contact Lila and we’ll get back to you.”

“And what’s in it for him?” Clementine asks, their eyes on Five.

“I’ll have a word with A.J.,” he says and he pauses again, ever so careful. “You can dispose of him later.”

“We’re not planning on killing anybody.”

“Then what are you here for?”

Clementine and Cha-Cha exchange a look. Now it’s their time to consider just how much they’re willing to share. It seems like the answer is _not much_. Five can’t blame them for the lack of trust; he probably wouldn’t even be here if his mind was clear enough to think. 

“Let’s just say good old Hazel was right about some things.”

He nods and looks down. Once again his chest is tightening, reacting to pain that isn’t really there; it blooms from where Herb had shot him — _sorry, old pal, you know how it is_ — like his body is resentful of the fact he reversed the damage. If Cha-Cha were to do the same, he wouldn’t be able to help it; he’d bleed out quickly under the heavy rain. She looks at him from the ledge like she knows it. 

“Well, let’s get ready,” Cha-Cha says, finally standing up. 

Clementine follows her, no hesitation. Cha-Cha doesn’t dissuade them either, their movement easy and coordinated as they prepare their weapons of choice. Clementine passes Five a revolver and holster. It probably doesn’t mean anything, but it makes Five feel inadequate, even if he can’t pinpoint why. Maybe it’s jealousy. Something warm and heavy fills his chest, equal parts comfort and punishment: he used to get like this back in the apocalypse, desperate for company and longing for home. He’s never liked being a solo number. Five thinks about his ruse, and almost regrets it.

“Are you sure _he’s_ ready? He looks like shit,” he hears Clementine say, their voice like a bell coming through the haze.

“I can hear you,” Five grumbles.

“Clementine’s right,” Cha-Cha says, “You do look like shit. Are you sure you don’t want to call your brother for help?”

“Diego? Wouldn’t burden you with that,” he says, going for nonchalant and missing by a mile, “besides, I’d rather not get him involved any further.” 

Cha-Cha glares at him. There’s a weariness to her that’s readable, a poise Five has seen before in both travellers and fighters. He knows what she’s trying to do. Five straightens his back up and holds still, defiant but open, letting her know he means no harm, but won’t back down nonetheless. It takes a moment, but her eyes soften, and she takes a step back.

“Alright, old-timer. Count on it.” Cha-Cha says.

Before Five can even begin to process what has happened, the tracker begins to beep loudly, grabbing everyone’s attention. A.J is moving. Turning towards the fire exit, she takes the tracker and puts it in her pocket, fetching her pistol from its holster.

“Let’s get this over with.”

* * *

_Vanya’s apartment_

_22:30 PM_

“You don’t have to come with me, you know?” Diego says, one hand on Vanya’s windowsill and the other helping Lila up.

“My boss was very clear I had to,” she chimes back as he finally climbs onto the tiny apartment’s balcony, “or I would’ve already dumped your ass!”

The large, flickering neon sign above them has turned their silhouettes into bright apparitions, pink and light blue against overcast skies. It’s going to start raining any minute now. Diego tries to open the window, but fails to do so.

“It’s locked,” he complains, already scrambling for something to help him pick it.

“Big deal,” Lila says, pushing past him. She grabs the lock and twists it hard, breaking it like it’s nothing. 

Diego tries to ignore what seeing that does to him.

“Coming in!” Lila yells, even though it’s clear there’s no one home. “Breaking and entering, and you didn’t even clean your shoes. Your sister must adore you.”

“Vanya understands,” he says, stumbling into the humble apartment and towards the only bedroom. “She’s cool.”

The room is, fortunately, tiny: just a bed and bedside table, and a small closet on the wall. It’s fairly tidy too, which Diego can’t quite wrap his head around, not with how hectic the last few months had been. He opens the closet and takes a quick peek. There are some notebooks, but he can’t find anything in them that resembles what Five had mentioned. Behind him, Lila leans against the doorframe. She’s given up on the undercover look and her jacket is now open, revealing both a revolver and a comfortable white tank top underneath. Diego flicks the bedside lamp on, looking over a few scattered pieces of paper he finds in the drawer. 

“You know, this was easier when we were kids. Vanya would always leave her diary under her pillow.”

“Why were you reading your sister’s diary?”

“How else was I supposed to know who was bullying her?”

“Was it you?”

“Sometimes, yeah.”

Lila chuckles discreetly. “Maybe give her a call?” she adds, trying to act nonchalant.

“Sent her a message already. I got this.”

Lila shrugs. With a yawn, she sits in the corner of Vanya’s bed, her eyes darting around the room. After a moment, she settles on watching as Diego rummages through his poor sister’s bedside table. Her presence has a gravitational pull, catching his attention, ruining his focus. He can feel her eyes on him, wants to turn, but his brain’s locked on the task at hand and he _has to_ , he has to find those notes— 

“Easy there, umbrella boy,” Lila says in an impish tone. “If the notes aren’t there, you aren’t going to find them. No need to make a mess.”

“Lila, I _need_ to do this, alright?” he pleads. “Five’s counting on me.”

“Let’s not do that,” she says, and grins.

“Lila.”

“You worry too much about your brother.”

“It’s not— okay, I do.”

“Come here, big boy,” she says, and offers him a hug.

Her words work on him like a spell. Letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, Diego stops what he’s doing and climbs onto the bed, sitting by Lila’s side. She gives him a tight hug and waits for him to relax in her arms. Their legs bump into each other.

“I missed you,” Diego says as the moment settles.

“I’m sure you did,” she replies, amused. 

Diego chuckles, and nudges his face against the curve of her neck. As the urgency of the mission fades into the back of his mind, he’s finally having enough time to process this new situation: Lila is here, no longer an effigy built by his own longing, and she’s so much more than he remembered, quick-witted and bold and oh so bright. He looks into her eyes and sees no trace of the shadow that loomed over her, no sign of fear or submission. It’s a wonderful view. 

“I guess we should talk about, well,” Lila murmurs. "You know. Everything."

“Don't worry about that,” he says, quick and natural. “We're here, together. That's a win in my book."

“Come on, Diego.”

“What? You don't believe me.” 

“I _do_ , that's the thing. You shouldn't trust me.”

“I know."

"Then what?"

"Nothing, you're worth the risk.”

She grins and pushes his face away. “What does that even mean.”

"It means that I love you."

Lila's eyes go wide, and she looks away. Diego smiles. Something beeps, but Lila dismisses it, bringing up a hand to take off her earpiece. She puts it away, then moves her hand to his chin, tilting Diego’s head slightly so their eyes can comfortably meet. Diego knows he should be careful; he should be resentful and wary and all those other things clever people do, but it’s pride and love that fill him right now, and when Lila’s hands come to rest on each side of his face, he leans into the touch. He presses a kiss to the palm of her hand, and then looks up at her, waiting for a sign approving of the gesture. 

“I missed your sappy nonsense,” she says, smiling softly. “And your dumb face.”

“What else?” he mumbles, his eyes fluttering closed.

“How you never, _ever_ shut up.”

Diego leans forward, so their foreheads are touching. “It’s good to know you’re doing well,” he says, his voice a sweet tone he didn’t remember he had.

“So we’re not doing the begging bit? I was kinda looking forward to it.”

“My family needs me here. I’m sure your team needs you, too.”

Lila sighs. “I hate it when you’re right.”

“I don’t have anything to offer you.” Diego says it like it’s a confession. 

Lila makes a small sound, a click of the tongue that he can’t quite decipher. There’s not enough time for it, anyways, because as soon as he’s heard it, he feels Lila’s hand on his cheek and _oh_ , she’s kissing him, a soft little gesture that’s both a surprise and a relief. He doesn’t push it. There’s an admission in the contact, a recognition of the circumstances . _Maybe in another lifetime_. Lila is surprisingly cautious, and before he knows it, it’s over: their lips part and they’re left with nothing but the rhythmic sound of the rain outside.

A faint beep interrupts the moment, this time coming from Diego’s phone. He ignores it.

“You should check that,” Lila whispers, her mouth so close he can feel the words against his lips.

Diego growls. “Not now.”

Another beep, followed by two more.

“Alright, I’ll do it.”

Resentful, Diego paws at his phone and reads through Vanya’s messages, which are usually short and concise, but now seem longer and anxious. The sight makes his heart sink even before he can process what the words say.

“Shit,” is all he can say when he’s done reading. Without hesitation, he starts typing back, a messy reply that’s almost unintelligible. 

“Is she ok?”

“That lying son of a bitch. He keeps pulling this shit! He keeps— I’m gonna— I’m gonna _kill_ him.”

“Slow down.”

“There’s no notes. He made that shit up.”

“Oh.”

Diego jumps to his feet. With a quick movement, he tosses aside the suit jacket and scurries off to the living room, kneeling by the sofa to pull a briefcase from under it. From it, he gets a sweater— warm, big, definitely Luther’s— and puts it on in a hurry. Behind him, Lila peeks from Vanya’s room and stares at him in mild alarm. He throws her a sweater too.

“That one’s mine, don’t worry,” he says, hurrying up to her side. “It smells funny, but I promise it’s just the humidity.”

“Where are you going?” Lila asks, confused. “I thought you were mad about this.”

“I am, but also I don’t want him to die,” he says, a response as natural as breathing. “Alright, gotta get moving. Wanna come with me?”

“You want me to go with you?”

“Yeah,” Diego huffs, and shoves the door open. “Of course I do.”

* * *

 _Elysium Theatre, main entrance_ _  
_ _22:30 PM_

The Elysium theatre’s facade is elegant but quaint, old art deco patterns still visible under the ivy that’s grown up the walls. There’s a balcony over the main door— a viable entrance, but unnecessarily risky— from which a dull light shines, the only sign of life coming from the building. Red neon against grey skies. In his pocket, his phone buzzes, and he pulls it out to see a string of unread messages from his siblings, including one from Diego, from about an hour ago. He doesn’t open any of them. Five adjusts the gun in the shoulder holster and, taking a deep breath, pushes the door open. 

There’s no one inside. The walls of the Grand Theatre are decorated in vaguely familiar paraphernalia, stylized images of shows and concerts past: Silhouettes of ballet dancers, pictures of people in nutcracker suits and, more alarmingly, a couple of swords on display, crossed behind shields with emblems on them. Five’s heartbeat grows quicker. Eyes slowly adjusting to the light, he manages to discern the limits of the room: it’s a fairly large, rectangular space with a grand staircase in the far center. The tiles on the floor are checkered and surprisingly clean for the state of the building. By pure instinct Five stops, takes a step back, and goes to open the door again, allowing cold light to seep into the theatre foyer. He turns toward the room once again, and his blood runs cold at the sight.

A.J’s there, waiting. 

“You took longer than I expected,” he says casually, looking at Five from where he sits, elbows on his knees. 

“What are you doing here?” Five mutters, frozen in place.

“Well, you wanted to find me, didn’t you? Otherwise I wouldn’t have let your brother find my tracking number.”

“You…” He tries to speak, but stumbles. He’d been so worried about shoving Diego aside that there had been no time to consider A.J had figured out his plan already.

“I know, I know. A little dramatic. But hey, office work gets boring, and nothing says good leadership like getting your own hands dirty sometimes— makes it seem like you’re part of the team.”

Five curses under his breath and despite his aversion, reaches for the gun.

“I heard you wanted to talk,” A.J interrupts him.

Five’s hand stops. “I’m turning myself in,” he says, even though the words are like tar in his mouth. “ I need your help,” he adds, to clarify. “Quid pro quo.”

A.J chuckles. “Normally I’d be all for it,” he says, “but if I remember correctly, last time I offered you a deal, you chose to hit me with a cricket bat instead.” 

The lights on the second floor are flickering now. Five sees someone beside him and turns towards them, but before he can identify the threat the lights are off again and someone’s on the other side, swinging something at his head. It’s a loud hit. Five staggers to his knees and tries his best not to collapse right then and there, his vision going blurry and his eyes failing to focus. It takes a moment, but he manages to stand back up. 

“Don’t get me wrong,” Carmichael continues, slowly standing up, “this is not just petty revenge. I just thought getting rid of you was common sense, a step to ensure our organization’s long-time safety. Consider it a preventive measure.”

There’s no sign of worry, no turning around. A.J is not expecting anyone else. Whatever Cha-Cha has planned, Carmichael has no idea; it was Five he expected, gullible and trusting and lonely as always. 

“You knew I was going to be alone,” Five says, almost to himself.

“Of course! And I thank you for it. Now, let’s get this show going, shall we?” 

There’s a faint click, and the lights turn on. It’s still dull, cold light, and it only really works around the staircase, but with it Five can clearly spot the row of shooters trained on him, standing behind the second floor’s handrail. It’s at least four people. 

“Thank you for coming,” A.J says, and snaps his fingers.

There’s a moment of silence, just a second, barely enough. Panic flares in Five’s chest, an alarm going off. _You're going to die here_. The thought is a flash of red in his brain, which goes out just as quick as it came. With a wince, he blinks towards the staircase just as the gunmen shoot, narrowly avoiding the spray of bullets that blows the tiles he was standing on to bits. 

* * *

This is how it ends. 

The gunmen have run out of bullets, but that’s not much of a relief; he’s out of them too, and he can barely blink away anymore. In the background, he can vaguely hear A.J monologuing away, but he can’t make out the words, still freshly concussed and overwhelmed beyond belief. There are four agents still standing, and there’s no point in denying they got the upper hand. The fifth gunman lies dead on the floor. It doesn’t feel like a triumph. 

They’ve learned how to track his jumps, anyways. Five does not learn this by observing, but rather from taking a punch to the face the moment he materializes. The hit sends him stumbling backwards, back flat against the wall. One of the agents tries to land a finishing blow, but they make the critical mistake of making it personal: they get too close, and Five takes the opportunity. 

Like a rabid animal, he bites down on the approaching enemy's ear, and the scream of sheer surprise the agent lets out activates some primal response in Five’s brain, a sense of accomplishment reserved only for the fiercest of prey. It’s a survival response. Sink teeth, tear out, and he’s back on his feet; he hits an agent at a full-tilt run, momentum sending them both tumbling to the ground. 

When he gets like this, he’s gasoline pouring into a fire. Five jumps even though he’s out of it, and he gets a mouthful of blood from the effort, but he’s got his hand on an agent’s knife, which is more than enough to make him dangerous. Four enemies are still standing, blade meets neck, three remain. There’s a voice inside his head begging for him to call it quits, but the rest of him doesn’t listen: Fighting is second nature to this traitor body of his, a propensity for violence that it clings to as it only crutch. Five wishes he could turn it off. 

Far away from here, scattered all around the city, his siblings rest and contemplate, their arms around each other, trying to solve this problem by other means. For a moment, his heart aches with the desire to be there. He’d _been_ there, days ago, only for him to reject their safety in favor of another scatterbrained ruse, a voluntary resignation to their freely-given love and warmth. If they could see him, they wouldn’t be proud. His face is covered in blood, and that’s enough to mark a world of difference between them: He’s been dragged out of the litter, branded and irreparably changed. Animals like him don’t get to be comforted. Once again the voice calls him, begs for him to stop, but there’s an argument this time: maybe this is what’s best for everyone.

A.J looks at him from the first floor, eyes meeting eyes behind glass.

One of the remaining agents lunges forward, their elbow hitting Five square in the chest. The tiles on the second floor of the hall have a checkered pattern: white squares where his body leaves a red trail, black squares where the blood melds perfectly. Their surface is smooth enough that the lucky hit sends him skidding across the room. Five only comes to a stop when he hits the wall by the staircase; as he does, three human-shaped shadows crowd his field of vision, stalking his fallen form like wolves in formation. 

One of them steps forward and, grabbing him by the collar, forces Five back to his feet. He struggles to stay standing. One step backwards and that’s his first mistake: he trips down the last few steps of the staircase, just barely managing to grab the handrail. Even then, he’s feeling too faint to walk anywhere, instead stumbling back until his arm is pressed against the wall. He moves forward, a crimson trail marking his descent. No one but him seems to be doing anything. 

He collapses at the bottom of the stairs. There’s a brief, blissful moment of near-unconsciousness, but the world is not kind enough to allow it to last. A dark shadow takes over Five’s field of vision as his eyes struggle to focus, accompanied by the ominous sound of metal against ceramic: Even in his state, he recognizes the glint of the sword that A.J now wields. There’s a hand on his hair and a boot on his back. 

“Don’t worry,” A.J says. “The grudge ends with you.”

In the silence that follows, Five can make out the noise of a briefcase warping. The mission is over. Like a clock striking midnight, the sound marks the sealing of his fate. No one will come for help, not now. There’s a token attempt at reversing the stream of time, but it’s futile; blue sputters and dies in his hands, and the hand on his hair pulls harder, forcing him to look up. The sharp end of the sword presses against his back, right between his shoulder blades, and Five can’t move, can’t act; there’s no fight left in him and this is not what he wanted, not what he promised, not what was supposed to happen.

There are things he wanted to say, but no one is here to hear them.

* * *

Diego pushes the door open, stumbling into the theatre in a graceless display. Lila is not far behind him. His eyes adjust to the darkness and he sees it, a person lying face down at the bottom of the stairs.

“Five!” He calls. 

There’s no response.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the beta reader sweethearts!! esp the lovely user who came and helped me in really short notice for the last section.
> 
> ...And thank yall for your patience and constant enabling. im glad youre enjoying my squirrel-brained writing.
> 
> NOW I promise 1-2 weeks before the next chapter. It's the final one btw!!!! Or maybe not. Either way it's 1 or 2 more and we're done.
> 
> also tangential: for the theatre building i was specifically thinkin about the daily telegraph building in napier NZ. just thought id tell you. its neat!


	4. The Play

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys happy new year. lets do the time warp.

_Elysium Theatre, main entrance_ _  
_ _23:00 PM_

Diego runs into the theatre foyer on his own. Lila takes a couple of steps forward, just enough to detect Five’s energy, and promptly steals it. There’s not much she can do now, this is not her part to play; turning around, she closes her eyes and blinks towards the balcony.

She appears on the second floor, right by the neon sign. The rain has already subsided, turning the city into a perfect picture of grey and blue. So many little houses with their little lights on. It’s like a postcard extending in front of her: too perfect, never meant to be reached. Lila takes a deep breath to steady herself, but she catches the smell of the sweater instead, a mix of humidity and a familiar cheap shampoo. 

She hooks a finger on the collar of the sweater. 

The night is coming to an end, and she’ll be leaving soon. She will be leaving and, somewhere in this city, someone who loves her will be left behind. Closing her eyes, she imagines a different ending, one where she had chosen to stay. If only she could turn back time and—

There’s a strange tingle in her hands. Lila’s eyes snap open. Just then she hears a click somewhere behind her, and she turns towards the sound.

“Oh, it’s you,” Cha-Cha says, emerging from the shadows. She lowers her gun and runs up to Lila, pulling her into a hug. “Thank God you’re alright.”

Although she’s a bit roughed up, Cha-Cha speaks with enough confidence for it to be calming. Lila pushes her blooming life crisis to the side and hugs back.

“Sorry for not picking up.”

“It’s alright, baby. What matters is that you’re here now.”

Lila bites her tongue, smiles, and lets the rush of affection wash over her. “Of course,” she replies. “Couldn’t leave all the fun to you, right?”

Cha-Cha lets out a sigh. “Let’s get our things ready.”

They fall into lockstep as they enter the building. Cold light is seeping through the windows, and under this spotlight Lila sees the aftermath, a story implied by smears of red and broken ceramic floors. Despite her best judgement, she starts to lag behind. The trail of destruction seems to lead downstairs, with things getting less chaotic the closer they get to the stage. 

“Here,” Cha-Cha says when they reach it, pointing towards the darkness. “I’ll turn the lights on.”

There’s a man on the floor near the entrance, hogtied but conscious. Someone has stabbed him on the shoulder with a weird knife.

Lila steps over him. “So Clementine’s still kicking, right?”

“Yes, everything’s ready. We’ll be meeting them in twenty, as far away from here as possible.” 

Lila raises an eyebrow. The lights flicker on, and she sees a neat little stack of briefcases in front of them: definitely less than they had predicted.

“Kinda disappointing, isn’t it?” she asks, trying to sound casual about it.

Cha-Cha picks up a briefcase and dials a code that makes it warp out of existence. “Turns out it wasn’t a meeting, like we thought.”

“A trap, then?”

“Yes, but not for us.”

There’s an impulse to ask for details, but it dies before Lila can open her mouth.

“...Help me get these ready,” Cha-Cha continues.

“I mean, we still have time right? I wanna steal a couple of those prop swords they had in the backstage.”

Cha-Cha gives her a side glance. “Where’s your mark?”

“Picking up his brother, I think.”

“I see.” A pause. “We better get out of here before he comes asking for an explanation, then”

“Huh,” Lila mumbles. “Everything alright with him?”

“Didn’t think you’d care about that.”

“I don’t. Just curious.”

“Sure,” Cha-Cha deadpans. “Well, they got him. Checked on him a bit ago. Dead as a doornail.”

Lila hums. Those aren’t exactly bad news, but they sure as hell are _news_ . She pushes the thought away and goes back to work. The process of extracting the briefcases is mechanical, _repetitive_ in a way that gets on her nerves. Lila forces herself to pay attention, hoping it will take the uneasiness away, but the theatre is too quiet and Diego must be downstairs now, going through god knows what.

For some reason, the thought brings back the tingling in her hands. Lila closes her eyes and focuses on it. Stolen abilities are not supposed to be this _finicky,_ not when she’s had them before; there’s something new to the energy she’s taken, something fierce and desperate that’s begging for her attention. It beckons her, like Timmy’s fallen into the well and her hands are goddamn Lassie.

“Maybe we should check on him,” she suggests, nonchalant, while she works on the last briefcase.

“Sounds like you owe the old man a favor.”

“Oh, I don’t, but it would be great to get him to owe me one, don’t you think?”

Cha-Cha laughs. “Alright, baby. I’ll be right behind you.”

“Thank you,” Lila says brightly. Another flash of blue, and she’s on the staircase.

The first floor of the theatre is completely silent. Lila stumbles forward, dizzy from the jump, but quickly gets her balance back and sprints downstairs. She can feel the pull of Diego’s energy merging with her own, and it’s such a relief to know he’s alright; it makes her blink by pure impulse, unable to hold back. When she reaches the last step, she realizes what’s happening. 

Five is still, _way_ too still in his brother’s arms. Diego is nuzzling him, mumbling some nonsense into his hair, a tender gesture that strikes her as bizarre. Lila kneels down, silent as a mouse, and reaches out to touch Diego’s shoulder. The floor is worryingly sticky. 

Diego turns towards her. “Lila,” he murmurs, his voice shaky.

“We’re here for you,” she whispers back.

Somewhere behind them, sitting on the steps, Cha-Cha hums in agreement. Diego turns towards the sound, startled. Lila holds him in place. 

“That’s just my boss. Relax.”

His eyes go wide, and he struggles to speak. No full words come out of his mouth.

“I’m sorry,” Lila continues. She glances at Five, just a little, to make sure he’s dead. Her hands burn in response. Not quite dead, then.

“It’s ok,” Diego manages to get out, his eyes never meeting Lila’s.

“Can I check something?” She asks.

Diego looks at her like she’s lost it, uneasy despite himself. It’s not voluntary, but his grasp on his brother gets tighter, making it hard for her to reach. Atop the staircase, Cha-Cha looks over them. Diego turns towards her, and she gives him a nod.

“Come on, I’m not gonna hurt him.”

Diego looks at Lila and loosens his grip, but doesn’t completely move out of the way.

“Diego, let me help him, alright?”

And it’s strange for those words to be so easy to say, but Lila takes it in stride. Diego pulls Five into his arms and brushes some sweat-slick hair away from his face, while Lila reaches forward, placing a hand on Five’s neck. Just then, the tingling in her hands returns, but this time she understands what it is trying to say: It’s not a beacon, but a plea; it’s panic and love tangled into one, pulling at the seams of time. 

A moment, and it clicks. 

She freezes in place as the instructions for the new ability settle, etching themselves into her bones.

“Boss?” Lila asks in a loud voice then, breaking the silence.

“Yes?”

“Just how much can I fuck things up for us?”

“Hopefully not much, but I wouldn’t mind a surprise. I trust your judgement.”

She nods. Diego holds her gaze and waits for a response. 

“Okay, don’t panic,” Lila tells him, fueled by a newfound selflessness. “I got you. I just need to figure this out.”

“Lila, you— what are you doing?”

“Something good, for once. I can’t stand seeing you like this.”

It must come off more aggressive than intended, because Diego flinches.

“Hey now,” Lila whispers. “It’s okay. I wanna try this, alright?”

“Okay.”

“I love you,” she adds, and realizes the words come out naturally this time. She places a hand on Diego’s cheek. “Don’t you forget that.”

He lets out a shaky breath, and nods.

Blue light envelops the three of them, and then the world turns into darkness.

* * *

_Elysium Theatre, main hall_ _  
_ _22:40 PM, again._

This is how it really ends.

The gunmen have run out of bullets, but that’s not much of a relief; he’s out of them too, and he can barely blink away anymore. In the background, Five can vaguely hear A.J monologuing away, but his words are mixed in with something else, something impossible to discern on a fresh concussion. 

Five jumps despite his better judgement, materializing by the large window atop the staircase. To his surprise, by the time he appears all agents have turned their weapons towards the main door, where something else has begun to unfold. There’s a second of confusion, and then he hears a yelp: one of the agents near him drops to the ground, blood splattering from a fresh bullet wound on his shoulder. 

Five turns towards the second floor and sees the Rat King standing there, weapon out and pointed at the ceiling. Lila is by her side, panting. Her lips move and, even though he can’t hear it, he sees the shape of the words _fuck you_ more than clearly.

Someone kicks the main door down.

“Luther?” Five mumbles, his mind growing increasingly hazy. 

It _is_ Luther, somehow. He lunges forward and grabs A.J by the arm, wrestling one of the decorative swords out of his hands. Five forces himself to look away, and towards the entrance. There, he sees Diego and Vanya, who frantically look around. Five's eyes meet his Diego’s.

“Behind you!” His brother yells, and starts running towards him.

Five doesn’t quite understand what’s happening, but he tries to follow the command. His legs, however, aren’t as cooperative. Still leaning against the wall, he doesn’t see the knife coming, only realizing what has happened when the blade slides out of his side. 

Five gasps and stumbles forward, losing his balance, but before he can fall Diego reaches him, wrapping an arm around his waist. He leaves Five on the floor and lunges forward, punching the agent with surprising force.

“Get out!” Vanya yells.

Lila pushes Cha-Cha into the nearest room. Luther, his hands still on the handle of the sword, lets go and steps back, having left A.J pinned to the wall. He hides behind their sister. Diego is busy with the two remaining agents, and doesn’t seem to hear the warning.

“Diego!” Five yells, the effort leaving him winded. “You have to run!”

Diego turns towards him, breathing through gritted teeth. Without looking, he elbows the agent behind him right in the face.

“We’re not going anywhere without you!” He growls, and Five finds himself unable to reply.

Vanya steps forward then, and white light fills the room. 

It all happens too fast. The two remaining agents drop to the floor like stringless puppets when the first wave hits, then there’s the piercing noise that makes the building rattle. Five closes his eyes. He hears the glass window shattering behind him, but no shards hit him at all. It’s then he realizes he’s not standing on his own anymore: Someone’s got an arm around him, and is covering him from any harm. 

Diego. 

Five opens his eyes just in time to see the shards falling, pulled away from them by Diego’s ability and forming a curtain of glinting light. Diego is growling. Five’s chin is resting on his shoulder, and from there he gets to see the brief second of beauty the explosion provides. Then, the sound comes back, and Five ducks down. Pressed this close against his brother, he can feel Diego’s heartbeat like it’s a drum against his cheek. It’s a good point of comparison for his own, which seems to be growing more and more erratic as the display comes to an end.

Five looks down and sees the dark stain soaking through his shirt. He’s got blood smeared all over Diego’s cozy sweater. The light begins to dim, then, and Diego steps back.

He faints as soon as Diego is not there to help him.

* * *

_Luther's car_ _  
_ _23:00 PM, again._

He’s in the back of a car, blood making him stick to the old leatherette of the seat. Someone is carding their fingers through his hair. Five leans shamelessly into the contact. 

The thought of the gala is so distant in his mind, it’s almost as if it had never happened. Five remembers the music, the feeling of being in control, while the notes mix with the image of glass raining down on him. Something feels off. Summoning the last of his energy, he tries to blink away, but the person looming over him is quick to hold his hands so he doesn’t act any further on the impulse.

“Vanya,” he says as he recognizes her.

His sister smiles. “We’re getting you home.”

“Is everyone alright?”

“Anyone but you,” comes Luther’s voice from the driver’s seat. “We’d talked about this, Five. I’m gonna kill Diego when we get home.”

Five is not sure why, but he feels the urge to cry. Just then, phantom pain courses through him and he jolts into a sitting position, clutching his chest like he’s just been impaled.

“Are you okay?” Vanya asks, a hand on his shoulder.

“Do you have a good first aid kit at your apartment?” Luther says at the same time.

“Not really,” Vanya replies.

“We’re going to my place, then.”

“Good idea.”

Five struggles to keep up with the conversation beyond that. He’s crying now, _sobbing_ , and it’s been years since he’s felt this weak-willed, this fragile. Vanya holds him like one would hold a child, which for once strikes him as comforting instead of patronizing. Five is _terrified_ , and he doesn’t even know why.

The car stops. He hears someone else parking nearby. Five gets carried out of the car by someone who smells like humidity and cheap shampoo, and he can’t move, can’t act; there’s no fight left in him and this is not what he wanted, not what was supposed to happen. 

There are things he wants to say, but he’s afraid everyone will hear them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ill be the first one to admit this is messier than usual but hey. 
> 
> thank you all for your comments and kudos!! see ya soon for the last chapter >:)


	5. The After-party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here! I bet y'all thought I'd forgotten!
> 
> After-party, this one's just sappy, that's my warning. Slow ending for what's been a slow story. I hope you like it!
> 
> Also, was this beta'd? Barely.

Diego sits on the front steps of the building in silence.

Although the rain has subsided, the skies are still overcast. He takes a deep breath, hoping the cold air will take him out of his daze, and bites his lip absentmindedly, drawing blood. There’s nothing in his mind but a single image, a horrifying scene that’s both memory and invention; he’s here, but he’s also somewhere else: a silent theatre hall with blood splattered on its walls, and the feeling of a pulse fading under his fingertips. It’s not real, not anymore, but knowing it does nothing to calm him down, no matter how clear Lila’s explanation had been.

Time truly is a finicky, tricky thing. 

No matter. Diego hooks a finger on his tie, pulling it loose, and lets out a sigh, leaning against the wooden door. He’s got both sleeves rolled up, his arms covered in scratches from the broken window. Looking up, he sees the light in Luther’s apartment is still on; he must be with Five, now that Vanya and the rest are gone. Being together might be good for them right now, but he knows better than to go upstairs: Luther is well-intentioned, but there’s some things he just wouldn’t understand.

Diego hears the sound of heavy boots on the wet pavement, getting closer.

“Hey,” he says, looking up.

Lila smiles. She’s holding a box of donuts in one hand and the soaked sweater in the other. At some point she’s changed her outfit for sensible pants and a leather jacket, it seems. She offers him the sweater, and he takes it.

“What are you doing out here?” she asks, leaning against the wall. “You’re gonna catch a cold.”

“I’m just waiting for Luther to go to bed.”

“Running from conflict? That’s not very _you_ of you.”

“God, I wish.”

Lila smiles in sympathy. “You’re not making any sense right now.”

“I’m— yeah.”

There’s not much else to say, not really. She deserves better than him opening his mouth. Always quick on the uptake, Lila offers him a donut instead of asking anything else, and he takes it with all the humility his upbringing had drilled into him.

“My boss sent these, by the way. Says you’re even now. Didn’t know you guys knew each other.”

Diego’s eyes go wide, and he shoves the entire donut in his mouth. “Oh, yeah,” he says while chewing. “We do, shit. Sorry I didn’t…”

Lila chuckles as he trails off. She sits by his side, their shoulders bump. Diego swallows the food quickly, so quick it hurts, and wipes his mouth on the collar of his shirt. He looks at Lila. Her mouth twitches into a smile.

God, he’s making a fool of himself again. 

Cautious, he reaches forward, resting his hand on her chin. Lila stares at him, dark eyes filled with anticipation. 

“Tonight was fucked up,” he says, his voice husky.

“You tell me.”

“Are you alright?”

“Feeling a bit sick, but fine.”

“Are you sure?”

She hesitates before answering. “Don’t worry about it.”

Diego glances at Lila intently, trying to decipher what’s going through her mind. He raises an eyebrow, she looks away; Lila’s eyes dart between him and the window above them and _oh,_ of course. 

Diego’s hand moves to rest on top of hers.

“Thank you, Lila,” he says.

“What?” Lila replies with a nervous chuckle. “I just helped you. It’s not a big deal.”

“But it was,” Diego insists, cautiously caressing her hand. “Wasn’t it?” 

Lila shrugs, biting her lip.

“God, Lila—” and he’s so determined now, so hell-bent on making sure she _knows_ . “You didn’t have to, but you did. You helped us, and if you hadn’t, I— I don’t know what I would’ve done.” A pause, a kiss pressed to her wrist. “ _Thank you_.”

Lila stares at him in disbelief. Then, her left hand moves, and now she’s holding _his_ face. Diego leans wholeheartedly into the contact. She looks at him like he’s out of his mind, like she’s ready to page his reaction as lovestruck nonsense; it’s a reflex, he knows better than to judge. He waits, patient and steady, until her expression changes and she decides to lean forward, pressing her forehead against his chest.

“Well, you’re lucky we’re friends,” she says from there, her voice somehow unfazed by the charged moment. “No way I’d help the little shit otherwise.”

Diego runs his fingers through her hair. “That’s fair.”

“I mean it— it was terrible. Worst feeling ever. You owe big time, Hargreeves,” she replies, looking at him now. “Next time I’m just killing him.”

There’s no bite to it. 

“Guess I’ll have to keep an eye on my phone now, for when you call in the favor.” Diego says with regained confidence, his voice steady again.

Lila pushes him playfully, but her hand stays on his shoulder. “Yeah. You better be ready.”

Diego looks at her hand. Moving it down, Lila is tracing a pattern on his forearm, carefully avoiding all the places where shards of glass had scratched him. There’s another image, another memory of the night that wasn’t, but this one doesn’t make Diego flinch.

“Hey,” he says then, and their eyes meet. “I didn’t forget.”

Lila pauses, processing what she’s just heard. When it clicks, she looks almost offended by it. Despite every mistake and bad choice he’s made tonight, Diego can’t help but smile.

“Well, now that’s humiliating. I’m leaving.”

“Alright,” he says, chuckling. “I guess you have to go.”

“Yeah. Unlike you lot, we didn’t mess up _our_ mission. We have things to do.”

Lila stands up with a little jump, and she seems just a little lighter, a little happier than before.

“Take care out there,” Diego says. “I’m sure your boss wouldn't like to lose her best agent.”

“Fuck off,” Lila replies, smiling. “And keep an eye on that brother of yours. I don’t want all my hard work going to waste.”

“Understood.”

Diego stands up. He takes a step towards Lila, but doesn’t go for a hug; instead, he puts his hands behind his back and waits, biting at his lip again. Lila smiles and punches him on the shoulder.

“See you soon,” she says.

“See ya.”

Diego looks over Lila’s shoulder. Like an apparition under warm streetlights, two silhouettes stand out among the muted blue skies. Lila turns around and walks towards them, and Diego can’t help but stare in silence until he suddenly _can_.

“Lila!” he yells through the fog.

She turns around to face him, genuinely annoyed. “What now.”

“I know you’re good where you’re at but, if you ever wanna stay somewhere, you got a place here, alright?”

Lila opens her mouth to speak, but seems too surprised to do so. Instead, she closes her eyes and sighs, trying and failing to contain a smile. 

“I promise!”

“Yeah, yeah. Toss me that sweater of yours, won’t you? It looks better on me, anyways.”

Diego beams at her. Without hesitating, he crumples the sweater into a ball and throws it. It lands right on Lila’s hands. Diego winks, and she rolls her eyes. Then, it’s over. Like a ghost, Lila turns around and vanishes into the fog, joining the others as they walk away. Even if they’re blurry, Diego can see how one of them holds Lila’s hand, how the other ruffles her hair. He smiles. 

Behind him, the lights on the apartment are still on. Diego grabs his keys, but hesitates; even when it feels like the right thing to do, he can’t help but feel terrified. He’s never been the kind to open his heart, not unless it’s completely necessary. Not like it’s ever been beneficial. 

He almost, _almost_ walks away, thinking there will be a better time for this, but the truth hits him then, and he opens the door. This is the _better time_. He’d hesitated to speak before, at the gala, and look how that had turned out. Diego begins to walk upstairs as the words in his head repeat over and over. He’ll open up, pride be damned, and he’ll let his brother know, will force him to live with the burden of being loved. And it will be terrible, to be that vulnerable and that involved, and Diego will hate every minute of it, but it will be good, it will be better.

Small steps.

* * *

With great effort, Five opens his eyes. He’s in Luther’s room, sprawled on his bed, only half covered by the blankets and just a little too cold. Holding the windowsill for support, he sits up and takes a look outside. He must have been out for a while, because the sky has that early morning hue of blue, and it’s not raining anymore.

“Maybe we can take turns,” Five hears someone say, just outside the bedroom. 

He pulls the top blanket loose and wraps it around him. 

“Don’t worry, man. I’m keeping watch,” another person replies.

Luther and Diego. 

Five lets out a shaky sigh of relief. Their voices are not terribly relaxing, but in moments like this, just hearing there’s more people around is comforting enough. 

“Do you think he’s awake?” Luther asks, his voice a whisper that’s just comically loud.

Five leans against the window and focuses on the sound. His body feels heavy, his mouth is dry —it’s probably the blood loss, he knows how this works and he’s not going to panic. His mind has been scrambled, too woozy to string sentences together, and his hands are trembling a little, giving away his frail state. He notices he’s wearing someone else’s t-shirt now: Too small to be Luther’s, too large to be Vanya’s, it’s probably Allison’s, if the subtle perfume is anything to go by. If Allison had been here, that means Klaus had, too. Everyone had seen him like this, probably. Everybody knew. 

At least his side doesn’t hurt too badly. Very little pain, actually. Must be his lucky day.

“Vanya gave him enough nyquil to kill a horse. He’ll be out for a while.”

Five licks his lips. Plastic cherry and regret. At least that explains the blurry thoughts. The conversation becomes hard to hear for a moment, as chairs are being dragged around; when he picks it up again, the tone of it has shifted enough to startle him.

“Carmichael,” Luther says, voice dripping with a mix of anger and fear. “You did the Carmichael thing.”

“The plan was solid,” Diego replies without missing a beat.

Diego is… defending him?

Five shudders as the details of the night come to the front of his mind again, and he realizes just how much trouble he’s in. Luther should not have found out what their plan was— hell, if it depended on him, Diego would not have known about it either. 

“Diego, we said we wouldn’t let Five do the Carmichael thing,” Luther continues. “You know what happened last time he got involved with them.” There’s a pause then, and Five can only imagine his brother is looking at the bedroom door. “He’s… susceptible when he gets like this.”

“I know,” Diego bites back in that obnoxious tone of his, the one that makes him sound like a stubborn child.

“Then why did you _help him_?”

“What did you want me to do? Leave him alone? You know he would have done it anyways.”

“You could have stopped him.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“At least you could’ve told me! Any of us!”

“There’s a reason he doesn’t tell this stuff to any of you! If you would only _trust_ him for once, maybe he would—”

“Diego, he didn’t tell _you_ either. He tricked you.”

Another moment of silence. Five lets out a shaky sigh and wonders if punching himself in the face would be enough to knock himself out.

“I know,” Diego says then, his voice much softer now. “I know, but I understand it, alright?”

“Diego.”

“ _Luther_ ,” he says, mocking. “Look, man. You know what I mean. He’s been through a lot, and we’re all he’s got. He wants to solve this for _us_. We can’t just take that away from him. It’s what keeps him going”

Five waits for Luther’s reply, but it doesn’t come right away. Laying back down, Five buries his face on the pillow and begs for the conversation to just _end_ —

“Jesus fucking Christ. He could have died.”

Luther sounds _shaken_. Five’s heart breaks a little. It’s not that terrible, is it? It sounds like he’s just done something terrible. Five can’t quite process why, but he’s feeling awful about all of this. 

“Alright,” Diego says then, and he sounds _terrifyingly_ confident. “I got this, Luther. Don’t worry.”

“You sure?”

“Sure. Hundred percent.”

Five shivers. He’d really, truly messed up this time. Too ashamed to face anything, Five turns towards the wall and closes his eyes once again.

“Thanks, man,” he hears Diego say, somewhere closer this time.

“Thank _you_ for reaching out for us, even if you were way too late.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll take that.”

“Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.”

“Can’t promise anything.”

“Diego.”

“Shut up. And take care.”

“You too.”

Muffled words, a door being open. Silence, more silence, so calming and so tempting, and he’s about to fall asleep again when there’s a faint change in the lighting of the room, and he’s so startled by it he forgets to pretend he’s asleep. 

Someone has walked into the room. 

With a heavy sigh, Diego sits at the bottom of the bed. He rests his head on his hands, grabbing at his hair, face against his palms. The fury he radiates is almost tangible. Five braces himself for the fight, preparing arguments to dismiss his brother’s righteous anger, but Diego doesn’t seem to be moving. Cursing under his breath, he remains in the same position, seemingly unaware of Five’s eyes on him.

“Oh, God,” Diego mutters after a minute, finally looking up. 

He moves closer to Five, cautious at first. There’s a world of difference between them, a lifetime left unspoken that makes understanding impossible. Whatever’s got into Diego, however, seems to be stronger than that. He reaches out and pets his brother’s hair, kinder than Five had thought him capable of, and it’s hard to pretend he’s not awake then, when he’s melting into the touch.

“Hey there,” Diego says, and Five opens his eyes.

“Hey.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Like absolute shit.”

Diego smiles. “I can go to the living room if you want to sleep. No worries.”

Five pauses. It _would_ be easier.

“Please don’t,” he says, anyways. “Stay here. Better get this out of the way now.”

There, done. Five takes a deep breath and sits up.

“So, I guess you’re mad at me.”

Diego raises an eyebrow. “Why would I be mad?”

“Well, Luther sounded like he wanted to bite my head off, which is not completely irrational, and you…”

“Hell, _Five_.”

“What?”

Diego rests a hand on his brother’s shoulder, and gives him a little shake.

“What’s gotten into you? I thought you were the one with the brains.” 

And there is a lot to say, of course there’s a lot to say. There’s regret, and anger, and so many I-told-you-sos, but this is not the time for that. There’s something different in Diego’s eyes, something new, and after a moment Five figures out what it is; he’s seen it before in his own reflection, in a dusty bathroom mirror from a different time and place. It’s grief, raw and open, and even if Five can’t understand what caused it, he recognizes it as one would recognize an old friend.

“Luther doesn’t get it, Five,” Diego says, his voice almost a growl. “But I do.You want to do everything you can to solve this, and you just forget…”

Five holds his breath, strangely shaken.

“...You just forget how much we care about you.”

_Oh._

“We’re not doing this again, that’s a fact. I’m not letting you do this again. But I’m not mad, alright? I’m just glad you’re safe.”

“Thanks,” Five mumbles.

“I mean it. I’m glad you’re safe. Fuck, I’m _happy_ , I’m really happy you’re okay. You need to know that.”

Five looks away, but Diego’s eyes on him are too heavy to ignore. He doesn’t know what to do, not really, so he does the first thing that comes to his mind: he coughs just to get Diego’s attention, and then offers him a hug.

Diego’s face lights up, and isn’t that a relief. One second, and his brother has his arms around him, hugging him with more strength than he probably should.

Physical contact is still strange. All of Five’s instincts are ringing alarms right now, looking for any indication of danger, of this being a trap. There’s no threat, however, not anymore. It feels kind of nice, actually. Leaning forward, Diego murmurs some nonsense into Five’s hair, nuzzling him. The sensation is familiar in a way he can’t describe. 

“It’s not a big deal, Diego. It really isn’t,” Five murmurs, trying and failing to convince himself of it.

“Oh, shut up,” Diego replies, but there’s no malice in his words. “It is a big deal. You could’ve _died_.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It _does_ matter. You don’t get to say you don’t matter, ‘cause no one says that about my brother. Not on my watch.”

Then, like by magic, the image unfolds: darkness and lush halls, shortness of breath. Fears and rancor being shoved into corners just to help him, motivated by a love he doesn’t understand. Diego’s breath so close to him, whispering similar words: _You matter, of course you matter. I love you, and it_ is _a chore, but you’re worth the effort._

“You’re worth the risk,” Diego says now, the words mixing in Five’s mind.

There’s a lot of questions to ask, but right now is not the moment. Whatever pride Five has left dies right there, and he hugs his brother a little tighter.

“Hey there,” Diego says as he pulls away from the hug. “We’re alright, okay? We’re alright.”

“I’m sorry,” Five whispers in reply. “I fucked up. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, you did, but we’re gonna come up with some other plan. It’s fine.”

“Yeah.”

“We’re gonna get through this. All of us.”

Five nods. Refusing to let go, he rests his head against Diego’s chest, letting his brother hold him. It’s not much, but it’s something. For the first time in forever Five feels like he’s not being chased, like he can let go for just a moment without things going to hell. It might be an unfounded sense of security, but he’ll take what he can get. There will be more conversations, he knows that, more explaining and apologizing to do. Mistakes tend to come with those pesky consequences. Unlike before, however, the idea of having to face them is not quite so dreadful.

Diego is right, they have time to fix this.

They will be okay.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah, that's it folks. I hope you had fun!! thank you all for your comments, it's been a blast. 
> 
> take care, drink water, don't repress your feelings, and be kind to one another


End file.
